


Crossed Wires

by lecrivaineanonyme



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: AU where Dex does not attend Samwell, Derek "Nursey" Nurse is Unchill, Derek is clumsy and hilarity ensues, Dex is So Done, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 19:53:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8258459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecrivaineanonyme/pseuds/lecrivaineanonyme
Summary: Will snorts. "You are unreal,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve had people in here crying because they downloaded a virus that can be removed in two minutes, and here you are with pie-filling in your computer, joking about how at least you didn’t fucking put rice in it.”
Derek grins. “It’s chill,” he replies, scratching the back of his neck. “Why worry? I know you got my back.”
Also known as the one where Nursey is constantly fucking up his laptop and Dex is the lucky Best Buy employee who gets to fix it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I had lost the ability to write for fandom. Then I fell down the Check Please! rabbit hole and suddenly wrote the longest piece of fiction I've ever written in my life. What was supposed to be a cute and funny 3k fic turned into a roughly 14.7k monster of which I am very proud. I haven't had this much fun writing in two years. 
> 
> All of the thanks to Lynchy8 for being a 'swawesome beta, as they always are <3\. If it weren't for them, I'd never publish a thing. Special thanks to consultingclassicist, who not only dragged me into this fandom kicking and screaming back in June, but has lived with this story since I started writing it back in July and without whom it probably wouldn't exist. From encouraging me to write it after I pitched the concept, to reading early drafts and putting up with endless shrieky, flaily texts during the writing process, this fic is probably as much hers as it is mine. Thanks, friend!
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters belong to Ngozi and I have never worked in a Best Buy. I'm 99% sure that this is not how getting your laptop fixed there usually goes, but as our favorite metaphysical goalie would say, IT'S FOR THE NARRATIVE.

The moment he sets foot in Best Buy, Derek Nurse can feel his hair stand on end. From the generic pop music blaring through the speakers, the swarms of soccer moms with their Louis Vuitton purses and oversized sunglasses to the businessmen with earpieces, holding intense discussions with thin air, it’s all so... _grating_. There are aisles of polished merchandise, as far as the eye can see. Employees in blue polos and khakis are flitting about, looking up prices, ringing up purchases, and explaining the benefits of Blu-Ray over DVD.

_Chill, bro_ he thinks. _It’s cool. Just people going about their business_.

He adjusts his beanie and slouches his way over to the laptops. Pulling a small notebook from his pocket, Derek frowns as he tries to decipher Chowder’s scrawl. The words and acronyms certainly _look_ like they are in English, but Derek isn’t convinced.

_3 GB_ \- no, that’s not a 3, it’s an 8 - _8 GB RAM._ ~~_526_~~ _256 SSD Intel Core i7 CPU. 6-8 hr battery life. At least 2 USB ports. Look @ Lenovos and HPs, skip Dells_ . _DO NOT BUY MICROSOFT OFFICE THERE, DISCOUNT AT SAMWELL BOOKSTORE. DO NOT BUY WINDOWS 8._

Definitely not English.

Derek decides to just look for something that looks like the laptop back in his dorm. He probably should’ve written down what kind of laptop he has, but he’s not even really sure. There are just so many _kinds_ of PCs available. Derek can’t keep them all straight. There’s a finite number of ways you can put together a computer. And yet, somehow, he’s surrounded by dozens of different models, all sleek and shiny.

He pockets his notebook and wanders through the aisles, glancing for anything that resembles what he currently has. They all look the same to Derek. He stops in front of model with a little tag that says _HP Pavilion_. Those words sound familiar. Maybe he has a Pavilion? He pulls out his iPhone to text Chowder.

_@ the store bro, no idea what to buy_ _  
_ _Yr notes are not helping_

“Can I help you find anything?"  
  
Derek startles, dropping his phone with a clatter. “Fuck, just a sec,” he says quickly, kneeling down to retrieve it. Tucking the phone securely in his pocket, he turns to the person behind him and is met with a pair of amber eyes, looking him up and down appraisingly.

The owner of those eyes has his hands shoved in the pockets of crisply pressed khakis which match the standard-issue store shirt quite nicely. Vibrant red hair frames a freckled face; the guy is young, probably a college student. And Derek can’t help but think that even the guy’s ears are cute. The fuck?

He is, though; verging on being downright adorable. Or he would be, if his entire body language wasn’t screaming _back the fuck off_. He’s standing ramrod straight and tense as coiled spring. A jack-in-the-box comes to Derek’s mind. Wind this dude’s clock too many times, and whatever he’s restraining will explode out of him. Derek has half a mind to grab the guy’s hand, drag him back to the Haus, and have Shitty roll them all a joint. He looks like he needs one. Desperately.

After waiting a beat for Derek to answer, Jack-in-the-box huffs in annoyance. “Well, okay then. I’ll just leave you be,” he mutters, turning to walk away. The tips of his ears have flushed red.

“Wait, stop,” Derek says, reaching out to touch the guy’s shoulder. He flinches at the touch, so Derek quickly pulls his hand back. The guy turns back to Derek, eyebrows raised.

_Chill, bro_.

“I’m sorry, man, I was totally spaced out for a second there,” Derek apologizes. “I could use some advice on picking a laptop. There are just so many, you know? And I know fuck-all about computers.” He smiles at the guy, who stares back defensively. “Can you help a guy out?”

Jack-in-the-box nods shortly. “Sure. What kind of laptop are you looking for?”

“One that works,” Derek answers.

The employee rolls his eyes. “Ha ha. You think you’re real cute, don’tcha?”

“I’ve got references,” Derek offers. He grins as the employee’s flush spreads down his face, towards his collar. “But the more important question is whether or not _you_ think I’m cute.”

Jack-in-the-box folds his arms across his chest. “I don’t give discounts for compliments, buddy,” he snaps.

“Whoa man, I was just trying to lighten the mood,” Derek says. “I’m not fishing for discounts, I promise. We cool?”

The guy takes a deep breath before nodding. “Yeah, sure. We’re cool. Let’s try this again.” He brushes some imaginary lint from his shoulders before letting his hands fall at his sides. “So. How do you use your laptop?”

Derek shrugs. “School, mostly. Writing papers, surfing the ‘net. You know. The ushe.”

“Any need for high quality graphics? Art and design classes? Play a lot of computer games?”

“Nope,” Derek replies, pulling on a thread on his cuff. “Nothing fancy like that.”

Jack-in-the-box nods. His eyes are on Derek, but they’re slightly glazed over; he seems to be staring at something _beyond_ Derek. He’s focusing on something - some map, some checklist - that only he can see. “Okay. Are you a tablet user? Some of our laptops convert into tablets.”

Derek shakes his head. “I already have an iPad. Just a regular laptop is all I need”

“Do you travel with your computer a lot?” Jack-in-the-box asks. “Need it to fit into a particular bag?”

“Actually yeah,” Derek answers. The flashing screensavers on a nearby laptop catches his eye, and he turns to watch the ocean waves morph seamlessly into a lush rainforest. “I travel during the school year and need to be able to bring it to do homework on the road.”

“Okay, so you’ll want something relatively small and lightweight.” There’s a slight pause. “What about your budget? What are you looking to spend?”

“The price is what it is, man. Tell me what you recommend I buy and I’ll pay for it.” Derek turns back to see Jack-in-the-box’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “I mean, we can skip all the gizmos and I don’t want anything _particularly_ expensive, but let’s not worry about the budget for now, yeah? It’s chill. Just show me what you got.”

Jack-in-the-box opens his mouth as if to say something, but apparently thinks better of it. After a beat, he tries again. “All right, then. Any brand preferences?”

“Like I said, I know fuck-all about computers. Especially PCs - more of a Mac guy, really. I’m not even sure what I have right now, actually.”

The guy makes a face. “You don’t even know what kind of laptop you have?”

“All I know is it isn’t a Dell. My friend would’ve killed me if I bought a Dell. He has strong opinions on these kinds of things.”

“You probably should have brought him along,” Jack-in-the-box says. “ _He_ would’ve been helpful.”

“He’s stuck in class right now, but he wrote down some stuff for me.” Derek fishes the notebook out of his pocket and hands it to the guy. “Does this mean anything to you? Means nothing to me.”

The employee takes the notebook and scans it. “It says you need a laptop with 8 gigabytes of RAM, a hard drive with 256 gigabytes of data storage, with a couple USB ports for thumb drives,” he says, handing the notebook back. “Your friend is suggesting you look at ones made by Lenovo or HP.”  
  
“Are those fancy?” Derek asks, chewing his lip. “He’s more computer-savvy than I am.”

Jack-in-the-box shakes his head. “Those are the specs for the average laptop we’d recommend for college students who don’t need special software or hardware for their programs. Just the basics.” He starts walking down the aisle and beckons towards Derek. “I can show you a few lower-tier Lenovos if you’d like.”

Derek nods and follows. “Sounds about what I need. A basic laptop that doesn’t break down.”

“Is that what happened to your current laptop?”

“Sort of,” Derek answers. “It’s been spontaneously crashing on me recently. I lost half an essay last night, which you know, happens. It’s cool. But I need a new one so I can turn in the paper.”

Jack-in-the-box stops. “Can you boot your laptop up after it’s crashed?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Derek says, frowning. “I get a weird screen about the system not shutting down properly, I hit the key to have it boot up normally, and it works for awhile. Until it crashes again.”

Jack-in-the-box hums for a moment. “How long have you had it?”

“Six weeks.”

“Six weeks? It should still be under warranty, then. If you’ve taken it in to be looked at and they found out it’s a manufacturer’s error, they should replace it for free.” Jack-in-the-box narrows his eyes. “You _have_ taken it in to be looked at, haven’t you?”

“Nah,” Derek says, shaking his head.

The flush is back. “Why the _hell_ not?”

“Calm down, bro, I tried to have it looked at this morning,” Derek replies. “Campus IT couldn’t promise they’d be finished with it today. My hockey team has a roadie tomorrow, which means no school computers are available, and the essay is due Friday at five. This was my only option.”

“Well, you are in a bind.” Derek wouldn’t bet money on it, but he thinks he sees a flicker of sympathy in the employee’s eye.

“It’s chill,” he says easily. “Life happens, you know? Just gotta roll with it.”

Jack-in-the-box rolls his eyes. “Look, man…”

“Derek,” Derek says before he can stop himself. “My name is Derek.”

Jack-in-the-box stares at him for a moment, before taking another breath. “Look, _Derek_ , when your laptop crashes - does the base feel really warm?”

Derek chews on his lip as he tries to remember. “I guess it kind of did the last time, now that you mention it,” he admits.

“Can you hear the fan running inside your laptop?” Jack-in-the-box’s eyes are starting to glaze over again, looking at the checklist only he can see. “Can you feel air coming out the base?” 

“Nope, no air, no fan sounds. I didn’t think you were supposed to be able to hear the fan.” 

Jack-in-the-box stares at the ceiling before running his hands through his hair. “It sounds like your laptop fan is either blocked or busted. The computer overheats, then crashes. If you bring it by, I can have a look and get it done this afternoon. You won’t have to buy a new one.”

“That’s so cool of you, bro,” Derek says, grinning. “Like, super cool. But I’d hate to put you out, so I’ll just pick one up now.” 

“Derek, I’m sorry,” the employee says in a carefully measured voice, pinching the bridge of his nose, “but I can’t, in good conscience, sell you a new laptop when I can fix what you’ve got.” 

“Hey man, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job,” Derek says, slowly. “But as a salesman, aren’t you supposed to...I dunno... _sell_ me something?”  

“Not when you’d be wasting your money for something you don’t need,” Jack-in-the-box retorts. He folds his arms, gaze challenging. “I won’t do it.”

Derek frowns. The dam is about to break. He can sense it. “But…”

“For the love of God, will you just bring in your laptop?!” His eyes are burning and Derek takes a step back.

Taking a deep breath, Jack-in-the-box hunches over slightly, staring at his shoes. “I’m sorry, that was rude. Just...bring it in? If I’m wrong and there is something seriously wrong with it, I’ll sell you the best basic laptop money can buy. I’ll get the manufacturer on the phone and yell until they replace it on their dime. Just let me look at it. It’s stupid for you to waste five hundred dollars when all you need is to have your fan cleaned. I can do that in fifteen minutes.”

Derek raises his hands in surrender. “Okay man, chill. I’ll bring it. What’s your name?”

Jack-in-the-box looks up at Derek warily. “Why?”

“Nothing malicious, don’t worry,” Derek says, taking a risk and giving the guy’s shoulder a friendly shake. He doesn’t flinch the touch this time, but he does quirk his eyebrows. “I need to know who to ask for when I bring my laptop in.”

“Oh, right.” Jack-in-the-box coughs. “It’s...it’s Will. My name is Will.”

Derek holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Will.”  
  
Will’s hands are freckled and calloused. “...Likewise, Derek.”

Derek grins and heads for the entrance. “I’ll be back in a half-hour.”

“Can’t wait,” Will deadpans, but he offers Derek a small smile. It’s the first proper smile Derek has seen, and it looks really, _really_ good on him.

 

* * *

 

Derek’s only been sitting in the little waiting area for about twenty minutes when Will emerges from the workroom. He’s got Derek’s laptop in his hands.

“There, all clean.” Will hands the laptop back to Derek. “If it continues to overheat, you might look into buying an external fan.”

“Thanks, man,” Derek says, zipping it up in his messenger bag. “I may actually get something done tonight.”

“I can’t fucking believe you were going to buy a new laptop because you had a dusty fan.” Will rolls his eyes before heading to the cash register to ring Derek up. “Who does that?”

“Somebody who _really_ needs to pass his interdisciplinary seminar,” Derek replies, pulling out his wallet. He hands his credit card over for Will to swipe. “Fucking eligibility.”

“Eligibility’s a bitch,” Will agrees. “What’s the class?”

“Seminar on the Harlem Renaissance and the blues. It’s super cool, but the music professor is not particularly chill and forgets some of us don’t know music theory. You have to know what a minor key is to understand the significance of it, y’know?” Derek sighs. “Whatever. It’s cool.”

“What’s the Harlem Renaissance?” Will asks, handing Derek his card and receipt.

“You serious, bro?” Derek looks up from his wallet. “You’ve never heard of it?”

Will’s ears turn pink. “Must’ve missed that day in class,” he mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets. His eyes flicker to Derek’s Samwell hoodie for a few seconds before returning to Derek’s face.

“Well, it was a movement that started in Harlem,” Derek explains. “A huge cultural, political, and artistic movement. Lots of great black writers, performers, and activists doing amazing things just after World War I. The literary output was incredible. Zora Neale Hurston, Langston Hughes, Jean Toomer, Claude McKay. Great stuff.” He smiles at Will. “You want a reading list, man? I could get you a copy. The poetry is absolutely sick."

“Thanks, but I don’t have much time to read anything but my programming textbook,” Will replies. “Literature’s never really been my thing.”

“It’s chill,” Derek replies, putting his wallet in his pocket. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

Will snorts. “Sure thing. Well, you’re all set, Derek.” The corners of his mouth twitch upward for a brief second. “If you get a chance in between your class readings, look up some basic computer care. The next guy you run into might just let your stupid ass buy a new laptop instead of fixing the problem for you.”

Derek chuckles as he walks towards the door towards the sales floor. “Can do. Thanks a lot, Will. I appreciate it.”

“See ya, Mr. Poetry Man.”

 

* * *

 

Derek ends up taking Will’s advice and does some reading up on computer care. He buys an external fan to prevent overheating, tries not to eat around the computer, and starts dusting it regularly.

So when he spills his water bottle on his keyboard while doing homework with Chowder at the Haus two weeks later, he remembers a tip he had read about using rice to absorb liquid from electronics. 

“Bitty?” he calls, poking his head in the kitchen, “do we have any rice?”

Bitty looks up from the apples he’s slicing for a pie. “Rice? Yeah, we do.” He sets down his knife, heads over to the dry goods cabinet and pulls out a bag. “Why do you need it? Are you hungry, Nursey? I’m making dinner as soon as this pie is in the oven. If you’ve got a hankerin’ for rice, I’d be happy to make it.”

“Nah, it’s for my laptop,” Derek replies, leaning against the kitchen door.

Bitty almost drops the bag of rice. “I’m sorry sweetie, I don’t follow?”

“I read it online,” Derek explains. “You get water on your device, you dump it in rice. Rice absorbs the liquid.”

“Well goodness that’s a...a _novel_ idea,” Bitty says. The _bless your heart_ remains unspoken. “Well, you just try it and if it doesn’t work, we’ll figure something else out.” He hands Derek the bag, still looking suspicious.

“Thanks, Bitty,” Derek says, taking the rice. “I’ll swing by the Murder Stop & Shop tomorrow after practice and get you a new bag.”

Back in the living room, Derek proceeds to empty the bag onto his keyboard, then carefully sets the laptop on the coffee table to let it rest. 

When he goes to turn it on a few hours later, it boots right up. Derek smiles; Will would be proud of him right now. Well, maybe not _proud_ , but he’d appreciate that Derek had learned a few things about computers.

He moves to turn the laptop upside down over the garbage can and several grains of rice fall from the keyboard. But several do not.

Derek inhales deeply, staying calm. The guides hadn’t mentioned anything like this, but no need to panic, just yet. It’s chill.

The rice has sunk into all the crevices of his keyboard. He tries to type but the keys refuse to budge. Rice kernels have managed to wedge themselves _under_ the keys.

Well, fuck. This is definitely not chill.

 

* * *

 

_Thwack. Thwack. Thwack._

“Be careful,” Chowder frets, gathering the fallen grains of rice into a plastic baggie. “You don’t want to damage the hard drive!”

“Chill, man,” Derek says, continuing to pound the back of his laptop. “The rice has got to come out somehow.”

“How’s it going?” Bitty asks, hovering near the kitchen door. His fingers are skating across his phone screen; Derek is certain that this mishap is being tweeted about. “Any luck?”

“Making progress,” Derek replies with an easy grin. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Chowder shaking his head. “Oh come on, C, it’s not _that_ bad.”

“I’m sorry Nursey! But it’s not _good_ either.” Chowder stands up, pulling out his own phone. “This is silly, I’m texting Caitlin. Maybe she’ll loan us her tweez-”

“OKAY, WHICH OF YOU FUCKERS IS PLAYING BONGOS IN MY HAUS DURING MY NAP?” a voice bellows. Shitty is halfway down the stairs, hands on his hips, wearing a ratty pair of boxers and his flow pulled back in a bun. “More importantly, why wasn’t I invited to the jam sesh??”

“Nobody is playing bongos, Shitty,” Bitty says, eyes not leaving his phone. “Nursey got some rice stuck in his laptop keyboard and they’re trying to get it out.”

Shitty snickers. “Nursey, brah, you can’t cook rice using your laptop.”

“Wasn’t trying to cook it, bro,” Derek replies, shaking more grains free from the laptop.

“He spilled water on it and read some online tip about using rice to fix the problem,” Bitty explains. “Unfortunately for Nursey, the rice ended up getting stuck in his keyboard." 

“It actually works really well on some things,” Chowder says, kneeling back down to push more grains into the baggie. “I saved an iPod once by putting it in a bag of rice and letting it sit overnight! But there were no crevices for the rice to get stuck in, so it was a little different. And it the less you spill, the more effective it is.”

“Nursey, why don’t you just take your laptop to the guy who fixed it a couple weeks ago?” Bitty suggests. “That way you can stop making that godawful racket.”

“He’s a sales guy,” Nursey says, setting down his laptop. “I think he fixed it the last time because he was super annoyed with me.”

“Well, there’ll be people who can fix it there,” Chowder says, a relieved smile spreading across his face. “C’mon, I’ll go with you!”

 

* * *

 

Dodging the soccer moms and middle managers, Derek makes a beeline for the customer service desk when they arrive, Chowder at his heels, holding the laptop. “For its own safety,” Chowder had said, patting the laptop protectively as though Derek had been unnecessarily mean to it.

A girl with a blonde ponytail and a nametag that says _Cheryl_ looks up at them behind the desk  and flashes a smile. “Welcome to Best Buy, how can I help you?”

“Hi, I’ve run into a spot of trouble with my laptop,” Derek says smoothly, smiling back as if he had not a care in the world. “Is there somebody who can take a look?”

“Sure thing,” Cheryl says, clicking something on her computer. She’s cute, with her soft brown eyes and button nose. Derek’s eyes are drawn to her nails, painted a vivid green. “Let’s see...looks like William is free. I’ll give him a buzz and he’ll be right out.”

“Cool, thanks Cheryl,” Derek replies. Cheryl turns a little pink at that, seemingly pleased that he used her name. He settles into a chair next to Chowder to wait for William. _Just how many Williams work at this one Best Buy?_ he wonders.

“Derek?”

Jack-in-the-Box is standing behind the counter, baffled expression on his face. “Derek, what are you doing here?”

Derek furrows his brow, confused. “Wait, _you’re_ the repair guy? I thought you were a floor salesman.”

Will shakes his head as he makes his way over. “I was covering for a coworker the day you were in. Usually I’m Mr. Fix-It.”  
  
“Ah,” Derek says. “That makes sense, since you kinda suck at selling things.” He winks and grins teasingly, standing and taking about two steps before tripping over his laces, bowling straight into Will. Will catches Derek’s upper arms, pulling him upright.

“As much sense as a guy who says he plays hockey but can barely walk,” Will chirps back, squeezing Derek’s arms before letting go. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Derek replies breathlessly, dazed from the fall and the feeling of Will’s calloused hands. “Totally chill. Thanks, man.”

“Yeah well, saves me from having to mop blood off the floor,” Will mutters, but Derek is close enough to see Will’s lips quirk up in the tiniest of smiles.

He’s close enough to see other things, too. Like the small dimples on Will’s cheeks, the little white scar on the bridge of his nose, and the tiny freckles on his lips.

“Wow, it’s a good thing I was holding your laptop!” Chowder says, breaking the spell. “Otherwise we would have had an even bigger problem! I mean, if you’re going to break your computer, this is the place to do it because it’s full of lots of people who know about computers, but we’d rather avoid breaking it if all possib-”

“Thanks, C,” Derek says loudly, cutting Chowder off. “My bro, Chris,” he explains to Will, who’s eyeing Chowder appraisingly, the way a cat might stare down an energetic puppy. “He’s a friend of mine from school. Chris, this is Will, the guy who wouldn’t sell me a computer.”

Chowder grins, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Will!”

“Same,” Will replies, shaking Chowder’s hand quickly. “So,” he asks, turning to Derek. “What is it this time? More dust in your fan? Download a virus from the Internet? Crumbs in your keyboard?”

Derek can feel the heat rising to his cheeks. “Not exactly crumbs, bro. More like...grains.”

Will folds his arms, staring Derek down. “What. Did. You. Do.”

 

* * *

 

“See? I read up on computer care, just like you told me,” Derek says as Chowder places the laptop on the work table. Will had ushered them to a workroom, muttering something about _goddamn lifehacks_.

“At least I put effort into learning something new,” Derek continues, enjoying watching Will’s ears turn pink. “I bet you didn’t even Google the Harlem Renaissance.”

Will rolls his eyes so hard that for one terrifying second, his pupils appear to have disappeared into his skull. “What did you spill, exactly?” he asks, sitting down at the table and opening the laptop lid.

Derek shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at his shoes. “Water.”

“How much?”

“I dunno, maybe a cup?”

Will glares at Derek over laptop screen. “You were there when it happened, how do you not know these things?”

“Chill, man,” Derek grumbles. “I was kinda busy trying to avoid getting electrocuted.”

“He did blot it right away,” Chowder pipes up, taking a seat across from Will. “Then he let the rice sit on the keyboard for about three hours.”

“Chris actually knows something about computers,” Derek says. “He’s the one who wrote down the specs I gave you the last time.”

“Good. He can translate for you,” Will replies, gingerly prodding the keyboard. They both fall silent as Will methodically pokes and prods the laptop.

“She gonna make it, doc?” Derek asks after a few minutes.

“Well, it boots right up,” Will replies, turning to face Derek. “But we won’t know if there’s any damage to the electric components until we get all this damn rice out.”

“I brought tweezers,” Chowder offers, holding them up like Excalibur.

“Too big a job for tweezers,” Will says grimly. “We’re going to have to remove all the keys.” He glares up at Derek, who stares back sheepishly. “Pull up a seat, Mr. Poetry Man. We’re going to be here awhile.”

 

* * *

 

Watching Will work is _mesmerizing_.

It’s a thing of beauty, watching his long fingers methodically extract the keys from the keyboard, brush out the rice, and inspect the minute circuitry. Derek can’t bring himself to look away.

Meanwhile, Chowder chatters away, asking Will about this and that in his effortlessly cheerful manner. Will obliges Chowder with a surprising amount of patience.

“I finished building my first computer when I was sixteen,” he says. “It took me forever to scrounge the parts for it and it was a piece of shit. But I’ve been fixing ‘em since I was thirteen. I took the family computer apart when I was ten, and my dad was _pissed_. He was a lot happier when I learned how to put ‘em back together.”

“I’ve never built a computer,” Chowder says, awestruck. “I haven’t even decided what track I want to specialize in. Samwell's compsci program has, like, four track specialization options, and they all sound ‘swawesome! I dunno how I’m gonna choose. Have you chosen at your school?”

“My program doesn’t have any tracks, but you can kinda specialize depending on what classes you take,” Will answers, prying another key loose. “I’m still deciding, too. It’s only my first semester.”

“How do you find computer parts to build your own computer?” Derek finds himself asking.

Will glances over at Derek. “Well, if you’ve got the money, you can just buy ‘em,” he replies. “Get ‘em from wholesalers or on eBay. I did some of that. Did a bit of scrounging around the electronic recycling in town. Went dumpster diving behind the computer store a couple times. Some relatives sent me their old computers, hoping I could find something useful so I’d quit going into the dumpsters.”

“That’s dedication, bro,” Derek says. “I’m not sure I love anything enough to get into a dumpster.”

“Not even one of your poetry books?” Will asks, turning back to the laptop. “A first edition Langston Hughes or Countee Cullen?”

“So you _did_ Google the Harlem Renaissance,” Derek says, grinning.

Will makes an indiscernible noise, but his ears turn a faint pink. Chowder looks at Will, then looks at Derek, and a knowing smile grows on his face.

Derek is going to get chirped _so hard._

 

* * *

 

“Well, everything seems to be in working order,” Will says, closing the laptop lid and zipping it up in its case.

“You sure the hard drive is okay?” Chowder asks anxiously. “Nursey was beating it to get the rice out earlier.”

“ _T_ _apping_ ,” Derek corrects. “I was tapping the back of the laptop. And Will says it’s working, so I can’t have done anything too bad.”

“It’s fine,” Will assures Chowder. He glances at Derek before handing the laptop to Chowder. “You better hang on to this, though.”

“I can’t believe you have no faith in me,” Derek mutters, fumbling for his wallet. “That hurts, bro.”

“I had to stop you from smashing your nose on the floor,” Will replies, standing and heading towards the door. “I don’t want witness you actually smashing that laptop.” He pulls out his keys, which slip suddenly from his fingers. “Looks like the klutz is contagious.”

There’s a chirp on the tip of Derek’s tongue when the keys hit the floor, but then Will is bending over and Derek’s head fills with static.

Derek considers himself to be an expert judge of asses. An ass connoisseur. Nobody knows the potential of a great butt like a hockey player, and nobody sees as many hockey butts as a hockey player. Derek knows a bodacious booty when he sees one.

Will has a _fantastic_ ass.

Derek doesn’t realize he’s staring until Chowder elbows him in the ribs. “C’mon Nursey,” he chides, “we have to go, or we’re gonna be late for team dinner! Bitty’s making honey garlic chicken tonight!”

“Chill, C,” Derek says automatically. “Bitty always saves you a plate, cuz you’re his favorite.”  
  
Chowder flushes as they follow Will up to the cash register. “I’m not his _favorite_ , Nursey, you know that. I-”

“‘S’okay, Chowder, we’ve all come to terms with it. Mom likes you best, it’s just how it is.”

“So, um, your total is $35,” Will says, printing out the work order.

Derek hands over his credit card. His fingers brush Will’s, sending a shock through his system and causing him to jerk his hand back. “Thanks a million, bro.”

Will rolls his eyes, swiping the card and handing it back. “Just don’t _ever_ do this again. I don’t care what you spill. No more goddamn rice in your laptop.”  

“Got it, Cap,” Derek replies with a mock salute, promptly dropping his wallet. “See ya next time!”

“There had better not _be_ a next time,” Will grumbles, but he lifts a hand in farewell as they leave the store.

“So, Will’s a pretty cool guy, isn’t he?” Chowder says as they walk towards Derek’s car.

“Yeah, I guess,” Derek says absentmindedly. “Dude’s got a stick up his ass, but he’s nice.”

“And he’s cute, too,” Chowder continues, a devious smile spreading across his face. “Super adorable freckles. And while he’s got a stick up it, his butt is really nice.”

“It’s almost as nice as Jack’s,” Derek agrees, stopping in his tracks when he realizes what just came out of his mouth. “Wait, what?”

“I knew it!” Chowder crows. “You’ve got a crush on Will the Repair Guy!”

Derek feels a flush creeping up his neck. “What are you on about now, C?”

“You can’t fool me, Nursey, I saw you checking him out,” Chowder says. “Several times. You had that same gooey look on your face that Shitty gets when he’s with Lardo.”

“Dude, I can appreciate a fine ass without having a crush,” Derek says, starting towards his car.

“Aw, come on, it’s cute!” Chowder says, following him. “You’d be super cute together! Go ask for his number, Nursey. You know you want to.”

“Not happening,” Nursey says. “C’mon, C, I thought you wanted dinner?”

“OH MY GOSH, TEAM DINNER!!”

 

* * *

 

“So how’d it go at Best Buy?” Bitty asks as he dishes out leftover honey garlic chicken. He had, in fact, saved plates for both Chowder and Nursey.

“Nursey’s got a _cru-ush_ ,” Chowder singsongs, eyes alight with excitement. Derek can’t tell what he’s more excited about: Derek’s supposed crush or the garlic chicken.

“Oh?” Bitty pulls up a chair, hands curling around his phone. “On who?”

“On Will!” Chowder answers. He pulls his plate closer, then grabs his fork. “Will from Best Buy!”

“Is Will the poor soul who had to clean all the rice from Nursey’s laptop?” Bitty asks.

Chowder nods vigorously, shoveling food in his mouth. “He had goo-goo eyes the _entire_ time Will was working,” he says after he swallows. “It was the cutest thing!”

“Chill, C,” Derek drawls, stabbing at the chicken in front of him. “I was appreciating his work. It’s no big deal."

“And his butt when he bent over.” Chowder smirks as Derek chokes on his bite. “Dude has a ‘swawesome butt.”

“Maybe he plays hockey,” Bitty muses. “There’s a state school near here that has a team, Ransom’s cousin is a freshman there, and he plays hockey. They’re not in the ECAC - I think they’re a D2 school - but they’re a decent team. Maybe Will plays for them.”  

Derek shrugs. “Didn’t ask and he didn’t bring it up. He remembered that I play hockey, so he had the opportunity.”  

“If he doesn’t, he totally could!” Chowder says. “He’s just as tall as Nursey. Not as broad, but he looks like an athlete of some kind, 'cuz he definitely works out. He chirps like a hockey player, too, I -”

“You know, C,” Derek interrupts, “I think maybe _you_ have a crush on Will the repair guy.”

“Whatever, Nursey,” Chowder replies, scooping up more chicken. “I’m not the one who tripped and literally fell into his arms.”

Bitty starts giggling. “Oh Nursey, really?”

Derek _hmphs_ before going back to his chicken.

“I’m just chirping, you know that right, Nursey?” Chowder asks worriedly. “I think it’s sweet! If you ask him out, you guys could double date with me and Caitlin! That would be fun, right? It would be totally ‘swawesome!”

“You could bring him to Winter Screw!” Bitty adds, eyes lighting up. “That would be really adorable. What does he look like? I-” He pauses. “Oh Nursey, I’m so sorry, you look uncomfortable while we’re gossipin’ like a bunch of ladies after church.”

“It’s chill, Bits,” Derek says with a smile.

Bitty pats Derek’s hand before standing up. “If y’all’ve got room for dessert, I’ve got some leftover snickerdoodles,” he says, heading to the cabinets.

Derek laughs as Chowder nearly combusts with joy.

“OH MY GOSH, SNICKERDOODLES!”

 

* * *

 

Given his track record with food around his laptop, Derek really should have known better than to accept the pie.

He had been curled up with Holster on the toxic green couch, watching _30 Rock_ on his laptop when Bitty came by with slices of warm peach pie à la mode.

“Using up the last of the peaches,” he had said, handing Derek his plate. “Enjoy!”

Derek had been unprepared for how warm the plate would be and promptly dropped it in shock. Right onto his keyboard.

“Oops,” Derek mutters. He balances his laptop on his knees while attempting to scoop the ice cream and pie back onto the plate with his fork.

“Bro! You have serious butterfingers,” Holster says, scooting away to avoid the flood of rapidly-melting ice cream.

“No wait, Nursey, you’re just spreading it around,” Bitty chides. “Holster, go get some paper towels.”

They spend the next ten minutes wiping off the excess pie filling and ice cream. Despite their best efforts, the damage has been done; Derek pokes every key on the keyboard to no effect. The screen remains frozen on Liz Lemon’s face.

“I think it’s time to call Mr. Fix-It, bro,” Holster says, clapping a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “This requires a professional.”  
  
Derek nods mutely. Something tells him that Will is going to be less than chill about this. With a foreboding sense of inevitability, he stuffs his laptop into his messenger bag.

“Guess I better get this over with,” he says, heading out the door. “Catch you later!”

Yeah, Will is going to be _pissed_.

 

* * *

 

“What part of _there had better not be a next time_ did you not understand, Derek?” Will’s arms are folded and his foot is tapping expectantly.

Derek offers him a lazy smile. “Chill bro, or I’m going to think you don’t like me.”

Color starts blooming on Will’s face. “Just follow me,” he grits out, turning towards the workrooms. Derek’s pretty sure he hears Will mutter “ _dumbass_ ” under his breath, and his grin widens. It was almost worth getting pie in his laptop to see Will this flustered.

Oh, right. Pie.

 

* * *

 

Will was silent for several seconds after opening the laptop lid and seeing the remnants of pie and ice cream in the keyboard. His mouth was set in a thin line, eyes widened in disbelief.

Derek opens his mouth to say something but Will simply holds up his hand.

“Don’t,” he says quietly. “I need a moment to process the...the _insanity_ of the situation.” So Derek nods, closes his mouth, and waits for Will to speak.

It feels like ages, but Will finally stops staring at the laptop and looks Derek in the eye.

“How in the ever-loving _fuck_ did you manage to get _peach_ _pie_ in your computer?” he asks, voice dangerously quiet.

“I was eating pie and it slipped out of my hands,” Derek answers. “The plate was really hot. Almost burned my fingers.”

This explanation was clearly not sufficient for Will. “And you were eating pie near your laptop because…?” he prompts.

Derek shrugs. “We were watching Netflix and wanted a snack.”

Will shakes his head, looking back at the laptop as though to confirm that the ice cream and pie were still there.

“But... _why_ were you eating pie?” Will’s voice goes up an octave, along with his eyebrows.

“...because Bitty made one?” Derek raises his eyebrows. “Do I really need an excuse to eat pie? You sound like my nutritionist.”

Will pinches the bridge of his nose before turning back to the laptop. “I can’t even with you right now,” he groans. “I just _can’t_.”

“Look on the bright side,” Derek says encouragingly. “At least I didn’t put rice on this time.”

Will snorts. “You are unreal,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve had people in here  _crying_ because they downloaded a virus that can be removed in two minutes, and here you are with _pie-filling_ in your computer, joking about how at least you didn’t fucking put rice in it.”

Derek grins. “It’s chill,” he replies, scratching the back of his neck. “Why worry? I know you got my back.”

Will’s ears turn pink and he ducks his head. “You’re one lucky bastard, you know that?” he retorts. “I don’t scrape pie filling out of laptops for just anybody.”  

 

* * *

 

“Derek, there’s no way around it. I gotta replace the keyboard.” Will says resignedly. He closes the laptop lid before pushing all the extracted keys into a neat pile. “It’ll take a week for me to order the correct parts and then another two to five days to install. I’m going to need to keep your laptop here for two weeks.”

Derek nods. “Okay. Whatever you need to do.”

“It’ll be ready for pickup on Saturday,” Will continues. “That work?”

“Yeah, I can come by Saturday morning,” Derek answers, thumbing through his calendar on his phone. “We’re leaving for a roadie around 10, but the store opens at 8, yeah?”

Will nods. “I’ll leave a note telling them to have it ready right away.”

“‘Swawesome,” Derek says, grinning. “Thanks man.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Will mutters, going over to open the door. “Now get out so I can take my fifteen minutes.”  
  
“Got a hot date?” Derek teases, pointedly ignoring how his stomach drops at the mere mention of Will having a date.

“Yeah. With a venti smoothie from Starbucks,” Will grumbles. “Your stupid laptop gave me a fruit craving and I think I fucking earned it.”

 

* * *

 

Derek shoves down the disappointment he feels when Will isn’t there that Saturday morning. He thanks the employee and drives back to the dorms. Later, when he’s sitting on the bus with the team, he opens his laptop and sees a note left on top of the keyboard.

_If you bring rice or pie anywhere near this keyboard, I will come after you with a hockey stick. Have a good game. -W_

Derek snorts. He carefully folds the note and tucks it into his wallet before opening his latest paper on biblical imagery in the blues and Harlem Renaissance literature.

They beat Quinnipiac 3-2 in overtime. Will’s note stays folded in Derek’s wallet, between his credit card and his health insurance card. If he takes to reading it before every practice and game, well, nobody needs to know. After all, there have been far stranger pre-game superstitions.

 

* * *

 

It’s early November when his laptop battery stops charging.

At first, Derek thinks the outlet in the Haus kitchen is dead. It’s entirely possible that there’s a problem with the wiring; Betsy’s refused to heat up for the last few days, to Bitty’s dismay. But then he tries another outlet, and his laptop still refuses to charge.

“Your laptop really is a piece of shit, eh Nursey?” Ransom asks. He’s playing Mario Kart with Holster and Chowder while Derek tries plugging his laptop into yet another outlet. “What’s up with it this time?”

“It won’t charge,” Derek replies, checking the battery level. _20% available (plugged in, not charging)._ “I dunno if it’s the battery or the cord.”

“Bro, weren’t you going to buy a Mac?” Holster asks. “I thought you only bought this to hold you over until you could order a Mac after you dropped your first one in Lake Quad. Rans, if you use that blue shell on me, I swear to God…”

“I was,” Derek replies. He abandons his laptop and perches on the arm of the toxic couch, watching the characters on screen drive laps around Bowser’s castle. “Must’ve forgot, huh?”

“You can do it right now,” Holster says. “Literally. I will let you use my laptop to order one right the fuck now.”

“S’cool,” Derek says easily. “I think I’m going to wait until winter break, then pick one up at home. All my stuff for the semester is on here.”

“Nursey, you need a fucking DropBox,” Ransom says. “Join us in the twenty-first century, won’t you? Cloud storage is _aces_.”

“If he buys a Mac, he won’t get to see to see Will every two weeks,” Chowder says. On screen, Toad elegantly leaps across the chasm of fiery lava. “He needs an excuse to keep going back."

“Wait, who is Will?” Ransom asks, steering Yoshi towards the chasm. “I haven’t heard of Wi-SHIT, I FELL IN THE LAVA.”

“Will is Mr. Fix-It,” Holster says, driving Koopa over the chasm. “We went over this, Ransypoo.”

“We did not Holtzy - c’mon, I need a blue shell, _ugh_ , not another banana peel! When would we have talked about it?”

“When we were talking about Screw dates,” Holster says patiently.

“Oooooh, right!” Ransom grins, and turns to face Derek. “Word around the frog pond says you’ve got a thing for Mr. Fix-It, Nursey.”

“You’ve just driven off the chasm again, Rans,” Derek says dryly. Ransom swears, turning back to the game.

“But then why haven’t you ordered a Mac yet?” Holster asks, accusation in his voice. “You barely know how to work that thing, it breaks down every other week, and you weren’t gonna keep it anyway.”

Derek shrugs. “Dunno, man.”

“C’mon Nursey, let us set you up with him for Screw,” Ransom says, pausing the game so he can turn and make puppy eyes at Derek. “Please?”

“Look guys, I appreciate the offer,” Derek says, “but I don’t want to be that dude who makes a move on somebody while they’re working.” He sighs. “Besides, I don’t think Mr. Fix-It was all that chill with my flirting.”

“You have a point, little d-man,” Holster admits. “But don’t you worry. Ransypoo and I will find you a date.”

Derek laughs as he stands up. “Wasn’t worried, bro.” He packs up his laptop. “Anyway, I’m off to get this checked out.”

“Say hi to Will for me!” Chowder calls as Derek walks out the door. “Caitlin says you should try the Bend and Snap! I dunno what it means, but I told her I’d tell you anyway.”

“BRO, YOU DID NOT JUST ADMIT TO NOT KNOWING THE BEND AND SNAP.” Holster shrieks.

“We’re fixing this,” Ransom says. “Right now. C’mon, Holtzy.”

Derek leaves the Haus laughing, the sounds of Ransom and Holster teaching Chowder the Bend and Snap floating through the screen door.

 

* * *

 

Will’s face is set with resignation when he spots Derek in the waiting area.

“No pie in your laptop today, right?” he asks warily. “My fingers smelled like peaches for two days after I installed your keyboard.”

“No, no pie. Betsy’s on the fritz, so there haven’t been pies for a few days now,” Derek replies, standing up. “It’s actually very sad.” His phone buzzes with a group chat update; Bitty’s sent a video of Ransom and Holster’s Bend and Snap seminar.

“Um, I know you’re into wordplay and shit, but what the hell does it mean if you say a person is on the fritz?” Will asks.

“Hmm?” Derek looks up from his phone. “Oh, Betsy’s not a person. Betsy’s the oven.”

Will scrunches his forehead. “The oven’s name is Betsy?"

“Ch’yeah, man.”

Will’s eyebrows migrate towards his hairline. “You named your oven _Betsy_.”

“Oh no, _I_ didn’t name it,” Derek says. “Bitty did.”

“Oh well _that_ clears everything up,” Will mutters.

“Bitty is on my hockey team,” Derek explains. “He bakes, like, _all the time_. It’s so great, man, there’s always pie or cookies, or something delicious. We have the best smelling frat house in the entire university. But with Betsy on the fritz, Bitty can’t bake. So there isn’t any pie for me to spill.”

Will nods his head slowly. “Uh huh. I see.” He looks down at the messenger bag at Derek’s side. “So, if it isn’t pie, then what’s up this time?”

“The battery won’t charge,” Derek replies, frowning. “I tried a couple different outlets in the Haus, but none of them worked. No idea if it’s an issue with the charge cord or the battery itself.”

Will’s lips quirk up in a half-smile. “Look at you, Mr. Poetry Man, using technical computer terms and troubleshooting.”

Derek allows himself one moment of preening before returning to his state of chill. “Been doing some reading, you know. No big.”

“Well, let’s go have a look,” Will says, turning and heading towards the work room. “Probably just needs a new battery, but you never know.”

 

* * *

 

It takes all of fifteen minutes for Will to confirm that Derek needs a new battery. Derek is suddenly struck with an idea as Will rings up the battery at the cash register.

“So man, are you handy with other things, or just computers?” Derek asks, leaning against the counter.  
  
Will glares at him from behind the register, printing up the work order. “Still no discounts for compliments.”

“Okay, I wasn’t hitting on you man. I wanted to know if you were any good at fixing other shit besides computers,” Derek replies.

“Right, sorry,” Will says awkwardly. His ears go pink and he hunches his shoulders.

“But if I was,” Derek says suddenly, “would it make you uncomfortable?”

Will’s cheeks start to flush. “I’m not having this conversation with you, Derek.”

“Is it because I’m a dude?” Derek presses. His brain is screaming at him to _be cool_ and _shut the fuck up, what is wrong with you?_ but his mouth isn’t following directions.

“Not. Having. This. Conversation,” Will says. His hands are trembling as he pushes keys on the register.

“You get uncomfortable when guys flirt with you?” Derek asks. He’s horrified at his own hypocrisy, but he's not sure how to fix this trainwreck of a conversation.

“You make it sound as if it happens regularly enough for me to know whether or not I’d be uncomfortable with it,” Will snaps.

Derek frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what? Never mind.” Will slams down the work order and Derek’s receipt. “I’m not having this conversation with somebody I barely know while at _work_ , of all places.”

“We can have it somewhere else?” Derek offers. _Smooth Derek, smooth._ “When does your shift-”

“I said I am NOT having this conversation!” Will’s chest is heaving and his eyes are glassy.

Derek raises his hand in a gesture of peace. “Okay man, it’s chill.” He picks up the receipt. “Thanks for your help.” He turns and walks out of the store.

Derek thinks about heading back to the Haus, but finds doesn’t feel like leaving without apologizing. He remembers Will had said something about treating himself to a drink from Starbucks after the pie incident. Today’s conversation certainly could warrant a treat.

So Derek heads over to wait in the Starbucks across the street on the off chance Will might indulge himself in a drink after work. If Will doesn’t show, at least Derek actually might get some work done. He pulls out his copy of Jean Toomer’s _Cane_ , orders an espresso, and settles in to work on his latest assignment.  

Two hours into his wait, Derek starts yawning. Maybe he’ll just shut his eyes for a few minutes…

 

* * *

 

“Derek? For God’s sake, Derek, wake up!”  
  
Derek wakes up with a start. Somebody is roughly shaking his shoulders. “I’m up, I’m up!” he grumbles.

“Good. If you had slept any longer you would’ve started drooling all over that beautiful new keyboard I installed.”

Derek looks up and sees Will standing there in a plaid jacket. “Oh, hey man,” he says nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t spent three hours waiting for Will in a fucking _Starbucks_ of all places just so he could apologize.  

Will rolls his eyes. “You dumbass, you could’ve electrocuted yourself.”

“Glad to know you care about me as much as the keyboard,” Derek says bitterly, regretting his tone instantly. Not only was it not chill, it wasn’t how one started an apology.

Will shifts his weight uncomfortably. “Look, Derek, I’m sorry I yelled at you, okay? I’m not...I’m not good at talking about that...that stuff.” He stares at the ground and scuffs his shoe on the tiled floor. “Actually I’m not particularly good at talking at all. ”

“Nah man, it’s cool,” Derek says. “I’m sorry, too. I was needling you when I shouldn’t have. Those were some personal questions I was asking. Especially at work.” He pushes out the chair across from him with his foot. “Take a load off, Will.”

Will hesitates, but decides to sit down.

“Want anything?” Derek asks, gesturing at the menu. ‘Not like a date,” he adds hastily, seeing Will’s ears go pink. “More like an ‘I’m-Sorry-I-Asked-You-Personal-Questions’ apology.”

“No thanks,” Will says, shaking his head. “You apologized, that’s enough.”

“Please?” Derek makes puppy eyes at Will. “Not even a small coffee? You can call it a ‘Thanks-For-Fixing-My-Shit-Laptop coffee.”

“It’s really okay, Derek,” Will says, fiddling with his jacket cuff. “I was just doing my job, you don’t owe me anything.”

“It’s not about _owing_ , Will,” Derek argues. “It’s about letting me thank you for going above and beyond the call of fucking duty to clean _pie_ out of my laptop.”

Will sighs. “Does it mean that much to you?”

Derek nods before he can stop himself. He was being super unchill today. “Please?”

“Fine. I’ll have a tall dark roast,” Will relents.

Derek frowns. “Do you actually _like_ your coffee like that, or are you getting the cheapest thing on the menu?”  
  
Will snorts. “I actually like it that way. I’ve always drunk it black.”

“My God, you’re like the fucking Tin Man,” Derek mutters, standing up. “One tall engine oil, coming right up.”

 

* * *

 

“To answer your earlier question, I can fix things besides computers,” Will says a little while later, drumming his fingers on the table. “I help my uncle at his appliance shop and do some woodworking.”

“That’s rad, man,” Derek replies. “You available for hire?”

Will narrows his eyes. “No, not really. Why? Need something fixed?”

“Betsy,” Derek sighs dramatically. “Bitty is beside himself without Betsy, and the rest of us are suffering from lack of pie. The sitch is bad for team morale, bro. I’ve talked to the other guys, we’re all willing to chip in to get it fixed.”

“That bad, huh?” Will says, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Yeah. I dunno if you know of any other repair people in the area, but if you’ve got any recs, you mind passing them along? We’d like to get it fixed. Without Betsy, there are no baked goods and one very sad Bitty - and between you and me, that’s actually worse than no pie.”

Will continues drumming his fingers on the table. He seems to be mulling things over. “I could take a look, if you want,” he says finally. “I can’t promise to be able to fix it, but I can try.”

A slow smile spreads over Derek’s face. “You would, really? That’d be chill!”

Will scowls. “Haven’t you met your ‘chill’ quota of the day, yet?”

“There is no chill quota,” Derek replies. “The chill quota does not exist.”

“It should,” Will grumbles. He holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

“But it’s working just fine,” Derek says, taken aback. “I didn’t spill anything on it.”

“No you dope, I’m going to put my number in it so you can tell me when you want me to come look at the oven.”

“Oh, ‘swawesome,” Derek says. He sets his iPhone in Will’s outstretched hand.

“If you call me about laptop-related issues, I will hang up on you,” Will warns, tapping the screen.

“Fair,” Derek replies. “Can I text you about other things?”

Will looks at him thoughtfully. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, why not?”

Derek grins. “Chill.”

 

* * *

 

“So, let me get this straight.” Bitty stands in front of Derek, arms crossed. “You want Will, the guy’s who’s been fixing your laptop, to come and look at Betsy.”

“Ch’yeah,” Derek says. “He’s worked in his uncle’s appliance shop and knows his way around an oven.”

“And he’d be willing to come and look at it? You aren’t volunteering him before askin’?”

“He said he would,” Derek replies. “He might not be able to fix it, but he could at least see what’s up.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bitty says, wringing his hands. “It’s awfully sweet of you to ask him, and really sweet of him to offer, but I don’t want just anybody looking at Betsy. She’s really fragile, y’know.”

“Bitty, this is the guy who cleaned pie filling out of my laptop,” Derek says. “He’s chill. Well, he’s not _actually_ chill. Dude needs a joint so bad. But he’s a decent guy and he knows what he’s doing.”

“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” Bitty sighs. “Goodness, we’re having company and I won’t even have a pie to serve him.”

“If you had a pie to serve him, he wouldn’t be coming,” Derek points out.

“I’m well aware, Mr. Nurse,” Bitty retorts. “But there’s no excuse for inhospitality.”

“You could buy something,” Derek suggests. “The cookies from Stop & Shop aren’t half bad."

“Derek Malik Nurse, you go wash your mouth out with soap this minute,” Bitty scolds. “I’m not serving a guest cookies from Stop & Shop! Particularly somebody you like. I would _never_ let the side down like that!”

“Will drinks smoothies from Starbucks,” Derek says dismissively. “He’s not picky about food.”

“I’ll just make a no-bake cheesecake,” Bitty decides, ignoring Derek. “Does he have a favorite berry? I’ll need to make sweet tea…when did you say he was coming, Nursey?”

“I didn’t,” Derek replies. “He needs your schedule so he knows when to come.”

“Oh, of course. Well, this weekend we have a game on Sunday instead of Saturday, so how about Saturday afternoon?”

“I’ll text him and find out,” Derek says, pulling out his phone. “Anything else you need to know?”

“What kind of berries he likes and if he’s lactose intolerant,” Bitty says. He’s whipped out his phone as well, thumbing through his bookmarked recipes.

_yo it’s derek does saturday work for you?_  
_also bitty wants to know yr favorite berry  
_ _and if yr lactose intolerant_

_Saturday is fine I’ll need an address_  
_Uh, I like cherries and strawberries?  
__Not lactose intolerant, why?_

_we need yr full medical history before you come_  
_just kidding, bitty’s making a cheesecake  
_ _218 jason st_

_Okay thanks  
_ _How is he making cheesecake without an oven?_

_he calls it no bake cheesecake idk what to tell you bro  
_ _it’ll be good tho, everything bitty makes is_

_If you say so_

“Cherries or strawberries are the berries of the day,” Derek says, pocketing his phone. “And Saturday works.”

“Classic strawberry cheesecake it is,” Bitty says. “Oh Lord, we have to clean!” He catches Derek’s eye. “You best not be thinking of telling me to _chill_ , Nursey.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Derek says before backing out the room.

 

* * *

 

The front lawn of the Haus is a surprisingly good place to sit and think. Derek enjoys stretching out on the lounger with a book or his moleskin, watching the world go by. It’s as good a place as any to wait for Will.

He looks up from his copy of _The Blacker the Berry_ when he hears the sound of a car pulling up to the curb. Will emerges from a beaten-up station wagon, slamming the door shut. His eyes dart around as he climbs the curb, clutching an orange toolkit.

“Will!” Derek calls out, raising a hand in greeting. “Over here.”

Will spots him and heads over. Derek can’t help but grin; Will is dressed in a mechanic jumpsuit and his red baseball cap is on backwards.

_God_ , he’s hot.

“‘Sup, bro?” Derek says, trying to find his chill as he stands and shoves his book in his pocket. “You all ready to go?”

“Lead the way,” Will replies. He gives Derek a half smile, but he’s clearly nervous; Derek can _feel_ the tension radiating off him of him.

“Welcome to Haus Sweet Haus,” Derek says grandly, gesturing at the house. “Home of the Samwell Men’s Hockey team.”

Will looks it up and down before following Derek up the stairs. “Wouldn’t’ve pegged you for a frat guy,” he comments. “You seem too hipster for that.”

“That’s why we don’t make assumptions, bro,” Derek replies. He opens the door. “After you.”

It’s surprisingly quiet inside; if Derek didn’t know better, he’d think everyone was out. Word that Will, Mr. Fix-It himself, was coming to look at the oven had spread rapidly through the team. They were there. Lying in wait.

“Kitchen’s this way,” he says, ushering Will down the hall.

They find Bitty sitting at the kitchen table, iPod in and homework spread everywhere. The no-bake cheesecake is perched on the windowsill, like a scene from a Norman Rockwell painting.  

“Bits,” Derek says loudly, “Will is here.”

Bitty looks up. He breaks into a smile as his eyes land on Will, who is hanging back behind Derek. “Will, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” he says, yanking out his earbuds before extending his hand. “My name’s Eric, but you can call me Bitty!”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Will replies, shaking his hand.

“Nursey - Derek, that is - talks about you so much, it’s lovely to put a face to a name,” Bitty continues. “You poor thing, you’re so good to keep fixing his laptop. Lord knows we try to keep it safe, but we can’t exactly babysit him. Sometimes we think he does it on purpose, but then he goes and spills spaghetti on a girl during lunch. He just can’t help himself.”

Will snorts. “So he’s always a walking disaster, then?”

“Oh yes,” Bitty replies. “He’s better on the ice than he is on the ground, that’s for sure.”

Will turns to Derek. “As the guy who fixes your laptop every other week, I’m going to insist you get insurance.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “You aren’t here to chirp me, you’re here to fix the oven,” he says.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am you agreed to have a look at old Betsy here,” Bitty says. “Can I get you anything? Sweet tea? Lemonade? Water? I’ve made a strawberry cheesecake in case you get hungry, I can serve that up right now.”

Will blinked several times. “I’m good, thanks,” he says, finally. “And you’re welcome. Happy to help.”

“ _Finally_ , we’re getting the oven looked at,” Lardo says, walking in. She grins at Will, cracking the dried paint on her cheek. “This your boy, Nurse?”

Derek feels his stomach drop. “Uh, he’s my, uh...”

“I’m the poor sap who cleaned pie out his computer, yeah,” Will says gruffly. His face matches his cap, and he’s scuffing his shoe on the floor.

Lardo claps Will on the shoulder. “You’re a hero,” she says. “We all owe you a beer for service above and beyond the call.”

“This is Larissa,” Derek says, pulling himself together. “We call her Lardo. She manages the hockey team.”

Will holds out a hand. “You keep this asshole in line?”

Lardo smirks and takes it. “When I’m not beating his ass at beer pong.”

“You that good or he that bad?” Will asks, looking her up and down.

“She’s that good,” Bitty says with pride. Will nods approvingly, clearly impressed.

“Mr. Fix-It is here? Fucking finally!” Shitty shoves Lardo out of the way, grabbing Will by the shoulders. “It’s so good to meet you, brah. It’s been nine days without pie. Nine. Fucking. Days.” He sighs dramatically. “I don’t know how we survived before Bitty’s pies, but I can’t go back, man.” He pulls Will in for a hug. “I can’t go back!”

Derek snickers as Will’s face flushes darker. “This is Shitty,” he says when Will catches his eye, silently demanding an explanation. “Winger for the SMH, buddy of mine from Andover.”

“Nice to meet you,” Will says in a strangled voice, awkwardly patting Shitty on the back.

“Hey Shits,” Lardo pipes up, “we’re all cool with you wandering around and hugging us naked, but you should at least put on boxers for company.”

“Didn’t I?” Shitty releases Will and looks down. “Well shitfuck, guess I forgot.” He grins at Will. “Welcome to the Haus, brah.”

 

* * *

 

“Point the flashlight lower, will you?”

Derek lowers it half a millimeter. “How’s that?”  
  
“I don’t think you actually moved it. Lower, please.”

“Any better?”

Will pulls his head out of the back of the oven to glare at Derek. “Are you trying to fuck with me, or have you never actually held a flashlight before?”

“As fun as fucking with you is, the health of Betsy is too important,” Derek drawls. “Didn’t want to accidentally blind you.”

“I have a better chance of fixing this oven blind than you have of making it up the stairs with your sight,” Will grumbles, going back to the wiring. “Little lower, please.”

“At least you said please,” Derek says, lowering the flashlight.

The front door swings open and the booming voices of Ransom and Holster drift down the hall.  

“‘Sup, Nursey, Bitty?” Ransom greets, poking his head in the kitchen. “Oh, Mr. Fix-It is here. ‘Sup, Mr. Fix-It?” He waggles his eyebrows at Derek, who promptly flips him off.

“Mr. Fix-It is here?” Holster asks, hooking his chin over Ransom’s shoulder. “Hiya Mr. Fix-It!”

“Will is just fine, Mr. Fix-It is my _father_ ,” Will intones, voice bouncing off the interior of the oven.

“Chirpy, eh?” Ransom says, grinning. “I like you already.”

“Come up for air, Will,” Derek says. “Meet Ransom and Holster.”

Will emerges, grease smeared on his cheek. He wipes his hand on his jumpsuit before standing and extending one to Ransom. “Nice to meet you…?”

“Justin,” Ransom supplies, shaking Will’s hand. “Everybody calls me Ransom. And this is Adam. You can call him Holster. We’re d-men on the SMH.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” Holster says, grinning. “You’re basically the reason Nursey’s been able to turn anything in all semester.”

“Poor frog can’t catch a break,” Ransom says.

“Speaking of frogs, where’s Chowder?” Bitty asks. “I thought he was with you two?”

“He stopped for coffee with Farmer, but he’ll be here soon,” Ransom replies.

“He’s so gone over her,” Holster says. “It’s kinda gross."

“It’s _darling,_ is what it is,” Bitty corrects, dishing up cheesecake. “She’s such a nice girl. I’m glad they ran into each other.”

“If I recall,” Holster says, “It was _Nursey_ who ran into her during our piggyback race. Chowder was unseated passenger.”

“Not only did he run into her, he ran into the entire volleyball team,” Ransom adds, nodding at Holster. “It was like bowling. All the pins were knocked down.”

“Something good came out of your klutz, huh Derek?” Will teases. “That’d be a first.”

“It’s chill,” Derek replies, smirking as Will rolls his eyes. “Happy to be the catalyst.”

“Well, we can all agree our little accident had a happy ending,” Bitty says, handing Ransom and Holster plates of cheesecake. “Will, are you sure you wouldn’t like some food?”

Will’s response is cut off when the Haus door slams open. “DID I MISS HIM, IS WILL STILL HERE?!”

“Kid’s a bloodhound,” Ransom mutters. “He can sniff Bitty’s cooking a mile away.”

Chowder comes skidding into the kitchen, dragging along a tall brunette by the hand. “Oh good, he is! Hi Will!”

Will smiles. “Chris, right?”

Chowder beams, sticking out his hand. “Yeah! Or you can call me Chowder, like everybody else on the team. But you can call me Chris, too! Whatever you want, really.”

Will shakes it before turning to the girl. “And you must be Farmer?”

She smiles too, holding out her hand. “Yeah, Caitlin Farmer. You’re the fix-it guy, right? Will?"

“Yeah,” Will says. “I didn’t realize I was going to have an audience.”

“Well Nursey talked you up so much, we had to come see for ourselves the Great Will, Master of Tools,” Holster says, clapping Will on the back.

Both Derek and Will flush. “I’ll try to live up to expectations,” Will mutters, scratching the back of his neck.

“You will, admirably,” Bitty says, shoving a plate of cheesecake into Will’s hand. “After you’ve had sustenance.”

Will opens his mouth, then closes it as he takes a seat at the table. “Thank you, Bitty.”

Bitty pats Will’s head. “Of course. Sweet tea?”

 

* * *

 

“You should be all set,” Will says as soon as Betsy is repositioned against the wall. “I gotta tell you, Bitty, that oven’s not gonna last a whole lot longer. You might want to start looking into replacing it.”

Bitty beams up at Will as if he had hung the moon and stars with his large, freckled hands. “Well this calls for a pie! You like cherries, right? Nursey said you did. I bought a box. I’ll just whip up a cherry pie!”

Will furrows his brow as Derek starts to snicker. Watching Bitty smother Will with affection was going to be the best thing that happened all week.

“But there was cheesecake,” Will says, gesturing to the empty pie plate on the table. “Really good cheesecake.”

“Well you can’t just go and fix my oven without a thank you,” Bitty says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You fixed Betsy, it’s only right you have some pie.”

“Derek already paid me,” Will says. “And you’ve thanked me several times. Really, it’s fine.”

“It’s not a proper thank you unless there is a pie,” Bitty replies. “And while that cheesecake is good, I can tell you that it is no substitution for pie.” He claps his hands together and heads for the cupboards. “Don’t you go anywhere, Mr. Poindexter.”

Will turns to Derek, eyes wide. “Pie is serious business around here, then?”

Derek snorts. “You’ve no idea, bro. No fucking idea.”  He grabs Will by the arm. “C’mon, you’re free for the afternoon, right? Let’s play Mario Kart with Ransom and Holster while Bitty bakes your pie.”

“Ooh, I’ll give him the Haus tour first,” Chowder says quickly, jumping up from where he and Farmer were curled up on the toxic sofa. “You get the game set up Nursey, Will and I will get Rans and Holster.”

Derek blinks. Chowder’s grin is a little too large, even for him. But Chowder is possibly the most guileless creature on the planet. “Cool,” he says nonchalantly, letting go of Will’s arm. “Be sure to show him where the ghosts live, C.”

Chowder grabs Will’s arm. “Great! Come on up!” He drags Will up the stairs. Will throws one last panicked glance over his shoulder as he follows.

Derek sighs and throws himself on the couch. _Chill, dude. Chill_.  
  
Caitlin reaches over and pats his arm sympathetically. “You’re really gone over him, aren’t ya?”

“Maybe,” Derek mutters.

“Then go ask him for coffee like a normal person instead of playing video games here with your bros,” she says.

“It’s not that simple,” Derek says. “I don’t think he’s into dudes. I brought it up once in the hypothetical and he...he kinda of freaked.”

“That’s rough,” Caitlin replies. “But you haven’t specifically asked him out, have you?”

Derek shakes his head.

“Well, you won’t know until you do.” She reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. “Maybe he’ll say no and you’ll miss your shot. But you’ll always miss a shot you don’t take.”

“Thanks, Coach,” Derek groans, reaching over to ruffle her hair.

Caitlin grins. “Got your back, dude.”

 

* * *

 

The Haus tour takes about fifteen minutes. Will seems perfectly normal when he comes back down, but as they start the game, Derek swears he can see Will turning to look at him a bit more frequently. Chowder also seems a bit too smug from where he’s sitting with Farmer.

Damnit.

 

* * *

 

“Now don’t be a stranger,” Bitty fusses, handing Will the saran-wrapped pie. “You’re welcome here any time.” They’re on the porch of the Haus, November wind whipping through their hair.  
  
“Thanks, Bitty,” Will says, offering a small smile. “Let me know if you the oven gives you any more trouble, okay?”

Bitty beams. “Well goodness, aren’t you sweet? Of course I will let you know.” He peers around Derek and suddenly his smile grows. “Jack, the oven is fixed! We can work on our project for our food history seminar!”

Will turns and his eyes grow wide as he recognizes Jack Zimmermann coming up the steps to the Haus, DSLR camera around his neck.

Jack smiles. “You’re Nursey’s handy friend, eh?” he asks, clapping Will on the shoulder. “I’m Jack. Thanks for fixing the oven. Bittle was going nuts without it and we have a class project that requires baking.”

Will gulps and nods. “Yeah, of course,” he stutters. “No problem. Happy to.”

“Did Nursey get you the money?” Jack asks. “We all pitched in - was it enough? If we underpaid you, we can make up the difference.”  
  
“You were robbed in the draft,” Will blurts out. His eyes get even bigger as he realizes what he just said. “Shit, I’m sorry, you probably get that all the time. I’m just gonna go.” He turns and nods at Bitty. “Let me know if the oven acts up. Thank you for the pie.” Then he runs down the steps and towards his car.

“I got it, Bits,” Derek says as Bitty opens his mouth to call Will back. “Sorry about that, Jack, he can be...awkward.”

Jack shrugs, smile tugging on his lips. “It was a compliment, Nurse,” he says. “I’m not gonna turn that down, eh?”

Will is leaning against his car, breathing deeply when Derek catches up to him. The pie is perched precariously on the hood. “Oh my God, I just made an ass out of myself in front of Jack fucking Zimmermann,” he groans.

“Chill, he thought it was a compliment,” Derek says, patting Will on the back. “Compared to all the other shit that gets said about him in the news, telling him he got robbed in the draft is pretty nice.”

“I can’t believe I just told him that.” Will scrubs his hands over his face. “If you tell me to chill one more time, I will strangle you on the spot.”

“Got it,” Derek replies. He retrieves the pie and puts it in the front seat. “You okay to drive?”

“Yeah,” Will says, taking another breath. “Yeah I’m fine.” He gives Derek a small smile. “I guess I’ll...I’ll talk to you later then?” 

Derek nods. “Yeah, I guess you will.”

Will smiles even bigger. “Cool.” He climbs into his car. “See ya, Derek.”

“Bye, Will.”

Derek stands on the curb, waving until the station wagon turns a corner. When he heads back up the Haus steps, Bitty and Jack are still on the porch.

“You picked a good one, sweetie,” Bitty says, reaching to give Derek’s arm a squeeze. “I really hope it works out for you.”

Derek glances back at the street. “We’ll see,” he mutters.

 

* * *

 

They start texting.

It turns into a routine. Will texts him about annoying customers, his ridiculous compsci homework, and his friends at school. Derek texts him about the team and his Harlem Renaissance class. They even livetext a Bruins game one night. It gets to the point where it feels weird if he hasn’t talked to Will at least once during the day.

Derek is so gone over this guy, it’s absolutely ridiculous.

“I don’t even know if he’s into guys, Bitty,” he groans one day in the kitchen. “I mean, we had a fight about it - clearly he’s uncomfortable with flirting. I dunno if he’s so straight that even casual flirting between two guys sets him off, or if he’s just so in the closet that even opening the door is too much. And I really like being friends with him. I don’t want to fuck it up.”

Bitty pats him on the shoulder. “If you want to be more than friends, that’s a risk you’re gonna have to take,” he says kindly. “I know it’s not the answer you want to hear, but it’s the truth.”

Derek sighs. “I know.”

“For what it’s worth,” Bitty says, “he clearly likes you well enough to come and fix an oven for your friends, then stay for three more hours to play video games. And you’re texting him, yeah?”

“As a bro,” Derek says. “And we paid him. It was a job for him. Just like fixing my laptop.”

“I think,” Bitty says slowly, “that maybe you’re seein’ what you expect to see, not what’s actually there.”

“You weren’t there for that fight, Bitty,” Derek says. “He was _shaking_ , he was so angry. I don’t want to piss him off like that again.”

“Well, then you have your answer, sweetie,” Bitty says. “You’ll just have to...move on.”  
  
Derek puts his head down on the table. If only there was a tool in Will’s monogrammed toolkit that could solve this particular problem.

 

* * *

 

Derek opens the door the door to the Haus the Monday before Thanksgiving and is blown over by the smell of cranberry pie. “Betsy doing okay there, Bits?” he calls, hanging up his jacket on the hook.

“She’s working like a charm!” Bitty sings back. “Will, the dear, sent me a _thank you note_ for the cherry pie I sent him. As if he wasn’t the one who fixed the oven that allowed me to make the pie. But TWO can play at this game. I’m making him cherry minipies after this cranberry is finished.”

“Cycle of gratitude,” Nursey says. “I dig it.”

“Speaking of gratitude,” Ransom calls, “We found you a screw date, Nursey!”

Derek pokes his head in the living room and finds Ransom and Holster watching Project Runway. “Who is it?”

“So you know how my cousin Michael plays hockey over at Massachusetts State University, right?” Ransom asks, turning to face Derek. “Turns out, his d-man is a pretty ‘swawesome guy we think you’d like.”

“Yeah?” Derek leans against the door. “Tell me more.”

“Well, he plays guitar, digs hiking, and loves the oldies,” Holster ticks off on his fingers, “including some of those blues you’ve been listening to. He’s on the quiet side, but has a wicked sense of humor. Apparently he’s a decent dancer and has a soft spot for craft beer.”

“You told us you like musicians and athletes,” Ransom says. “This guy is the best of both worlds, bro.”

“We talked to him and he’d like to go with you if you want to,” Holster says. “And we made sure it was okay to bring a non-Wellie to Screw, so it all works out!”

“So, what do you say?” Ransom asks. “Can he be your screw date?”

Derek looks at the pair of them and the hopeful looks on their faces. What else can he say? It’s not like he has a date lined up.

“Sure, sounds ‘swawesome,” he answers, forcing himself to smile. “Looking forward to it.”  
  
He does not think about Will. He does _not_.  

 

* * *

 

_yo we’re having hausgiving at samwell because we have a roadie and can’t go home, u wanna come?_

_Sounds fun, but I’ll be in Maine_  
_Thanks for the invite though  
__You should make me a list of all the pies Bitty makes_

_yr from maine, that explains the ridic accent  
_ _i can livetext hausgiving or do u have snapchat?_

_Look who’s talking Mr. New Yawk  
_ _Yeah I have SnapChat, it should show up if you enter my #_

_u will get a picture of every single pie bitty makes_

_Damn right I will_

_:))))_

 

* * *

 

Derek has never been less excited for a dance than he is for Winter Screw, but it's too late to cancel his date without being a total asshole. So he picks out a soft grey cashmere sweater to wear over his collared shirt, finds his nicest shoes, and spends thirty minutes ensuring his hair is just so. It’s no big deal. He can go to this dance with Michael Oluransi’s d-man, have a nice time, then ask Will out later. Or who knows? Maybe he’ll really hit it off with his date and he can get over Will. They’ll keep being bros, and everything will be chill.

If only Derek _wanted_ to get over Will.

 

* * *

 

_can’t livetext the Bruins game 2nite sry  
_ _school dance_

_It’s okay  
_ _Have a nice time_

_thx i’ll try_

 

* * *

 

“Your date is gonna meet you at the lamppost outside the dance,” Chowder says as they leave the dorms. He’s wearing a brown sportcoat over his teal button down; Bitty had declared the Sharks hoodie unsuitable for the occasion. “He’s going to have a book with him. I dunno what book it’s gonna be, but you’ll know it when you see it. It might be a book of poems? Or it might be short stories, I don’t remember what Ransom said.”

“Chill,” Derek says half-heartedly. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”

“Oh, this is going to be so fun!” Chowder grins and throws an arm around Derek’s shoulders. “Our first Winter Screw! It’s gonna be ‘swawesome, I just know it!”

Ransom, Holster, and Bitty are waiting for them as they arrive. “Look at our frogs, all grown up,” Ransom says, wiping an imaginary tear from his eyes. “We’ll be waiting inside, Nursey.”

Bitty reaches over and fixes Derek’s collar. “Shitty, Lardo, and Jack are already inside. Come find us when you meet your date,” he says. “I want a few nice pictures!”

“Sure thing, Bits,” Derek says. He heads over the lamppost where he’s supposed to meet his date while his friends head inside.

Keenly aware of his pounding heart, Derek distracts himself by people-watching. He sees several groups of students walk by on their way to the dance, girls daintily walking across icy patches in their heels. One guy slips, falling backwards into his date. They both start giggling and blushing, helping each other up and inside.

Will would have chirped him if Derek had slipped. He always did.

Derek’s so lost inside his own thoughts that he doesn’t hear somebody approach. He does hear a soft cough and looks up.

It’s Will. He’s standing there in his plaid coat, anxious smile on his face, nose pink from the wind.

“Hey man,” Derek says, smiling. “Fancy running into you here.”

“Hey,” Will says. He bumps his shoulder against Derek’s. “You, um, you look nice tonight.”

“Thanks,” Derek replies. “Thought I should try and look decent, y’know? Put in some effort for my date.”

“Thoughtful.” Will bites his lip. “You, uh, don’t seem particularly excited about the whole thing.”

“I’m not,” Derek replies, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I got set up on a blind date before I could ask the person I really wanted to ask, but it was too late to cancel.” He sighs, watching another group of students go inside. “Whatever. It’s chill. I’m sure he’s a nice guy and we’ll have fun.”

“Right,” Will says, voice tight. “Well, I guess I’ll be going then.”

Derek looks over and sees that Will is no longer smiling. He reaches over and grips Will’s shoulder. “You okay, man?”

“Fine,” Will says shortly. His eyes are oddly bright as he reaches into his coat pocket. “This is for you,” he says roughly, pressing a small item into Derek’s hand before turning to walk away. “See you later.”

Derek looks down. It’s a worn copy of Claude McKay’s _Harlem Shadows_. Inside the cover is a note:

_Found this in a used bookstore, recognized the name. Thought you might like it. -W_

Comprehension hits Derek like a truck. It’s Will. Will is the hockey player from Massachusetts State. Will is Michael Oluransi’s d-man. Will likes hiking and listening to the oldies. Will plays guitar and has a soft spot for craft beer. _Will is his screw date_.

“HEY WILL,” he shouts, running down the sidewalk. “WILL, WAIT UP! WILL - SHIT!”

He hits the patch of ice and slips, flying into an oncoming group of students. He looks down at the guy he’s knocked over and immediately sits up.  
  
“I am so sorry, man,” he apologizes, helping the guy to his feet. “You okay?”

“It’s fine,” the guy huffs, dusting off his jacket. “Nothing broken.”

“Good,” Derek says, before looking around. He spots Will a few feet away, hands in his pockets, watching Derek warily.

“Will!” he calls again, jogging over before bending over to catch his breath.

“You okay?” Will asks gruffly, resting his hand lightly on Derek’s shoulder.

Derek looks up, still breathing deeply. “Yeah, fine.” Will pulls his hand away, but Derek catches it in his own as he straightens. “You’re my screw date,” he says breathlessly. “It’s you. You’re the hockey player from Massachusetts State.”

“Yeah, it's me,” Will replies. “Chowder talked to me that day I fixed the oven. Said you liked me and asked if he could set me up with you for Winter Screw, so…”

“That sneaky little fucker,” Derek mutters. His heart clenches when he notices Will’s red-rimmed eyes. “Will, I -”

“It’s okay, Derek,” Will interrupts, biting his lip. “I should’ve known...well, I mean it’s a _screw_ date, right?” He laughs nervously. “I mean, Chowder was so _earnest_ when he talked to me that I just...never mind.”

“Talk to me, Will,” Derek says, gently squeezing Will’s wrist. “Please?”

Will takes a deep breath. “A little part of me was hoping he was telling the truth. That maybe…maybe you enjoyed coming to see me. That maybe you enjoyed talking to me.” He hunches his shoulders and looks down at his shoes. “But obviously that was wishful thinking on my part. I mean why would a guy like you go for a guy like me?"

“What does that mean?” Derek asks. “What do you mean, a guy like you?”

“Fuck you,” Will spits, wrenching his wrist free. “I’m not going to recite all my defects and I’m not going to stroke your ego by stating the obvious.”

“You like me?” Derek asks. His heart starts to flutter. “You like me enough to let Chowder set you up as my screw date?”

“Yeah, dumbass,” Will huffs. “Why else would I be here?"

“But that day...that day at the store…” Derek trails off. “That day you thought I was flirting with you?”

Will folds his arms. “I’m not good with words,” he says carefully. “Worse with feelings, and worst of all with words about feelings. I was working through some stuff that day and you put me on the spot.”

“Are you still figuring things out?” Derek asks. “It’s okay if you are, it really is.”

“I haven’t figured out if I’ve got a label yet,” Will says, shrugging. “But I know I like _you_ , and for the time being, that’s all that matters. But I’m not going to make you go to the dance with somebody you don’t like.” He turns and starts to leave.

“I was supposed to buy a Mac!” Derek blurts out. He reaches and grabs hold of Will’s arm. “A Mac, I was supposed to buy one.”

Will turns back to him, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“When I first got to Samwell I had a MacBook,” Derek says. “I dropped it in Lake Quad during preseason and needed a quick replacement, so I got a cheap, shitty PC because the Mac store is all the way up in Boston, and I didn’t have time to drive. Then it started overheating, so I went to Best Buy, fully intending on getting another quick replacement before driving up to Boston and getting one, but then I met _you_ .” Derek takes a deep breath, moving his hands to grip Will’s shoulders. “It’s been three months, and I fucking _hate_ PCs, but I still haven’t bought a goddamn Mac.”

Will’s amber eyes are bright, staring at Derek in wonder, lips slightly parted. “You could have ordered a MacBook online, dumbass,” he breathes.

Derek throws his head back and laughs. Laughs because of course Will would call him a dumbass after he confesses his feelings. Laughs because he is so stupidly smitten with this boy.

“I do like you, Will,” he says, gently squeezing Will’s shoulders. “I really, really like you. Chowder figured out I was a goner before I realized it. And he had the guts to set us up when I was just going to keep pining because I thought you weren’t into guys.”

“Well thank God for Chowder,” Will says. He reaches up to brush a stray curl from Derek’s forehead. “Cuz I was going to do the same thing.”

“Well, I guess he does owe me,” Derek says thoughtfully. “After all, I’m the one who ran headfirst into Farmer.”

It's Will’s turn to laugh, leaning forward to muffle the sound in Derek’s scarf. Derek takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around Will, pulling him closer.

Will looks up at him, eyes sparkling. Derek can see the freckles on his lips again.

This time, he leans forward to gently press his lips against Will’s in a soft, sweet kiss. Will sighs into the kiss, one hand curling into Derek’s collar while the other gently cups Derek’s cheek.

Derek rests his forehead against Will’s when they pull apart. “We should probably go inside,” he murmurs. “Bitty wants pictures.”

Will nods. “Can you promise me one thing before we go inside?” he asks, stroking Derek’s cheek with his thumb.

“Yeah,” Derek replies. “Anything.”

Will presses a quick kiss to Derek’s lips. “Promise me you’ll buy a MacBook? Your laptop really is a piece of shit.”

Derek buries his face in Will’s shoulder while he tries to contain his laughter. “Yeah,” he says breathlessly, “yeah, I think I can do that.”

A smile spreads across Will’s face. “Thank God.”

As they set off, hand in hand, Derek has never regretted buying a PC less.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Facts:  
> -The guy Nursey runs into at the end is totally Fry Guy. Just wanted to throw that out there.  
> -The rice incident is based on a true story. Yours truly played the role of Nursey, my two roommates were Bitty/Shitty and Chowder. I didn't take my computer in, I was able to tweeze out/bash out all the rice, and the computer lived another three years. But I will never forget my roommate coming in and asking why I was playing drums at 8pm.  
> -The Harlem Renaissance and Blues course Nursey takes is based on a course I took in college. The Harlem Renaissance is *fascinating* and y'all should go read about it.  
> -Claude McKay's "Harlem Shadows" is long out of print, but you can see an electronic version here: http://www.harlemshadows.org/ Dex clearly got his copy from Johnson at a second hand bookshop for the narrative. "I Know My Soul" reminds me of Nursey.  
> -Writing chirpy Chowder is super fun and y'all should try it.  
> -Massachusetts State University is a fictional university I created for this because I wasn't sure if there were any public D2 schools in the Boston area that would be close enough to Samwell where Will and Derek could reasonably run into one another.  
> -Tumblr user glowstiicks drew some AMAZING [fanart](https://glowstiickss.tumblr.com/post/175344275502/drew-some-absolute-madmen-from-lecrivaineanonyme) for this fic that still blows me away, honestly?!? I love it so much, thank you friend!!!
> 
> Thank y'all so much for reading! Feedback is always appreciated - I'm not the strongest fiction writer, so I'm always looking for ways to improve. If there are any typos or mistakes, let me know so I can fix them. 
> 
> I've got a writing tumblr if you'd like to say hi! lecrivaineanonyme.tumblr.com
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the fic as much I enjoyed writing it - thanks again!


End file.
